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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
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Tapping at my chamber door

In 2008, I'll Get Me A Shotgun

I will also:
2. Get closer to
Job hunt some more.
4. Get closer to my
5. Learn a new language.
Finish at least one screenplay.
Lose the extra weight.
8. Get a
driver's license. I will not buy a car.
9. I will
rule my world.
10. I will have my

« Home | Step One: Pulling out the weed » | The oldies in my head » | My Soothing mirror reflection » | Look for the mushroom cloud » | Where it all boils down… » | Analyze this.. » | Life without air conditioning – Day 12 » | Only in Egypt - Chapter 3 » | The "Screw" attitude » | Le Capisce L’Inglese? »

One Mississipi

You can’t lean towards an argument. You can’t choose for the reader. It’s the difference between a good writer and a bad one. If you’re gonna take sides... then you shouldn’t write. Just go for a presidential campaign.

Don’t judge at all… just recognize it, magnify it… then throw it in the trash.

Why am I writing this? I have a better question… why are you reading this?

These posts that I write, they’re my newly developed price tags. Something I should have done years ago; but then again better late than never, I guess.

Let me start by price tagging money. Money is of no value. It buys electricity and phone service. It buys food. We end up paying even when we’re asleep as the air conditioner swiftly crawls into our bank accounts. From the moment we wake up to the alarm, we’ve just consumed a few cents of electricity. Colgate it my corporate ‘Good Morning’. We pay to have our suit dry-cleaned. We pay for fuel or taxi to get to work. We pay for lunch at work. We pay for dinner, we pay for marriage. When we have a couple minutes where no payment’s being made, we take up habits like smoking. We pay for cigarettes. We pay for our babies at birth and we pay to have reproduction prevented by buying ‘protection’. We even pay for a small piece of land where we can get buried. In the end you realize that you could have saved your breath if you’d have stayed put.

Money is overrated… and over priced.

The barter system sounds more efficient at times.

I’m confused. Is it really worthless or is my dark prince playing his dirty tricks on me?

Who Moved My Cheese would stand as strong evidence in any courtroom. I have been lazy to change and adapt to the sick regime of this new world. I should have lied. I should have bad mouthed. I should have dated when I had the chance instead of judging my friends who did. That ex-friend of mine was right. I should have stopped trying to act like an angel or a saint. I should have joined the rest of the crew. I should have pursued the new fucking cheese.

But then again… maybe not. I wasn’t built that way.

In 2002, when I graduated from college, I was all about getting certified. MBA, CMA, CPA, KKK, I looked it all up, that whole abbreviation deal. I made researches, bought books and CDs, checked with friends. I even registered for the fucking test; but when I got to reading and (you know me) thinking (it’ll kill me, I know), I realized that this is not me. I want to do something that I like. I bet that over 85% of the people on this planet go for standard rules for highly effective people; something that Stephen R. Covey would right about. But I, for once in my life, want to follow that road, that dream. Ever dreamed of something? Ever accomplished any of your dreams?

Oh well…

Last night I started a To Do list of my own. I only added one item there for starters and I’m already working on it. I’m back to writing after two months of writer’s block. I have about 10 screenplays and two novels in the making. I’ve written a 10-page word document for each with all the ideas, character profiles, alt. endings, the whole nine yards; but I’ve been having difficulty creating that bridge from one scene to the next. Again, I’m just a newbie so I ain’t complaining. I just would have loved it if I could do a quicker job, you know. That rush, I’ve been missing that. They say that the actual “high” of drug abuse has nothing to do with the effect of the drug itself. The “high” peak is reached the second right before you shoot it up your body. The rest… is pure hallucination. The rest… usually is recollected as a complete blackout. Euphoria has been missing and I want to claim it back. I won’t do drugs though. I’m too old and too smart for that shit even though no one has ever died from cannabis. The overdose limit is 15 lbs in 15 minutes, i.e. one has to smoke 15 lbs of marijuana in 15 minutes in order to overdose. To cut it short: even if you want to do it, it’s plain impossible.
… unless you stop time. The only successful measure of stopping time known to man is the fact that when you look at the closest star to Earth, you’re actually looking at it 4.3 years ago. Pretty cool, huh?

What’s even cooler is the fact that the light from the closest galaxy to Earth has taken 2 million years to reach us, i.e. if you’re looking down at Earth from that galaxy, you’d be looking at it around the time when humans first walked the Earth.

Tomatoe, tomato.

But you’re not here to read about physics or time travel for dummies. You’re here to read me whine.

I took a long shower today. I needed to “clean my soul”.

During the last couple weeks I was angry. I was angry for some reasons that seemed right and some wrong ones. I didn’t really care. I was angry at many people and many things, but mostly I was angry at myself. I just needed a punching bag and all I could find was myself to punch, kick around and bleed out.

How could I let that happen to me?

When I’m angry, I usually count to three before I act upon my emotions. I think that’s why among the people who know me, I’m usually the cold one. I hate that. Why O why can’t I just scream and shout, especially when no ones around to hear me anyways? Why do I allow myself to internally bleed?

I let it all out. I didn’t cry. I hardly, hardly ever do. It’s not that I think it’s weak. It’s not weak, but I just don’t cry easy… or maybe my brain does it for me. I’m not sure. I don’t care.

And through my rage and despise of all life forms on this planet, I have forgotten about my soul. A soul is an attachment to a person’s body; but somehow the body can tell when a soul has not been taken care of.

I opened my favorite book and flipped to a random page in the middle. It was page 271, verses 41 and 42.

· وَالَّذِينَ هَاجَرُواْ فِي اللّهِ مِن بَعْدِ مَا ظُلِمُواْ لَنُبَوِّئَنَّهُمْ فِي الدُّنْيَا حَسَنَةً وَلَأَجْرُ الآخِرَةِ أَكْبَرُ لَوْ كَانُواْ يَعْلَمُونَ

· الَّذِينَ صَبَرُواْ وَعَلَى رَبِّهِمْ يَتَوَكَّلُونَ

*To those who leave their homes in the cause of Allah, after suffering oppression,- We will assuredly give a goodly home in this world; but truly the reward of the Hereafter will be greater. If they only realized (this)!

*(They are) those who persevere in patience, and put their trust on their Lord.

صدق الله العظيم

Lesson 1: I should have been more careful.
Lesson 2: I should be patient.
Lesson 3: Faith, faith, faith.
I’m done.


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